


Grand Theft Marco

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Accidental kidnapping, Fluff, Grand theft auto, M/M, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, These poor boys, but he still tries his best - for him and for jean, drivers ed gone wrong essentially, jean is a mess, lmao jeans mom can fucking crush his ass and he knows it, marco doesnt know whats going on throughout the whole thing bless his soul, pLEASE DONT HATE ME FOR THE TITLE, really awkward confessions, references to blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one thing to be on the run with your crush because you fucked up too badly to swallow your pride and fix it, but it's another to be too stressed and guilt-ridden about the situation to take in all the details about it. </p><p>And that's exactly the situation Jean is in now. The worst part is, is that Marco didn't even want to be in for the ride. He just kind of got dragged along and now he's another thing Jean's going to get arrested for, just because Jean couldn't wait for his driver's ed teacher to get back into the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Theft Marco

**Author's Note:**

> AGAIN, DON'T HATE ME FOR THE TITLE. I GOT NOTHING ELSE, BUDDY.
> 
> So, I told myself, "I'm gonna fucking write after this episode. I promise. I'm gonna do it."  
> ... I wasn't wrong, I guess. I just didn't write what I told myself I would, which sucks.
> 
> This is 100% based off [this episode of Malcolm in the Middle](http://putlocker.is/watch-malcolm-in-the-middle-tvshow-season-3-episode-13-online-free-putlocker.html), but I definitely did change things.
> 
> Enjoy this mess.

It was entirely too often that Jean found himself thinking, _how exactly did I get myself into this?_

 

Too often, just like now.

 

If he had a moment to think about it, he could probably pin it down to something along the lines of doing something he knew he shouldn’t have, only to freak out about it and do something worse, and essentially have it snowball from there. That’s how it always seemed to happen.

 

Boy, his mother was going to be pissed. Probably more than usual, as this time he had brought along “boy next door” Marco. As a hostage.

 

It wasn’t even like Jean had meant to. If Marco had not been such a shitty driver (and parker, _jesus_ ), or even moved to the back like he was supposed to when Jean had shoved him over instead of trying to tell him how much of a bad idea it was (and it wouldn’t have been, if Marco didn’t insist on playing _teacher_ ), then it would have been fine. He could have pulled out and straightened the damn car instead of arguing with the idiot and not been hit, which led him to driving away in a panic, and therefore not started his worse mess yet; grand theft auto.

 

Ah, so that was how it happened.

 

Marco had remained surprisingly quiet and each time Jean had looked over, he was pale as shit and looked like he was going to puke. Jean had offered that if anything, it wasn’t his car, so he could throw up in the backseat or out the window and he wouldn’t care. Marco had only weakly told him that he would be fine if Jean rolled down the windows.

 

He looked like he was sulking, what with the way he was leaning against the door, his head just barely tilted out of the window so the breeze ruffled his hair some. It’d be the perfect picture of one of those old, cheesy movies where the guy would take the girl out somewhere without telling her where they were going (“It’s a surprise!”) if it weren’t for the fact that Marco’s fingers were tapping the door handle too often to be out of boredom. He was nervous and that was probably the only reason his mouth was shut for fucking once.

 

It wasn’t that Jean didn’t like talking to him - because, as rare as it was, it was always nice and kind of made Jean feel like he was going to melt into the pavement or floor or something - but he knew that if Marco tried to complain or freak out, then Jean would be overrun with guilt and do something drastic, er, even _more_ drastic. It was bad enough they had the cops on them trying to convince them to pull over, one time even trying to tell him that his mother said she loved him and that he wouldn’t be in trouble if he just stopped for them over their bullhorn. What kind of chump did they take him for? His mother wouldn’t be saying that shit if she could get a hold of him, especially not since he had dropped her call when his phone had started ringing.

 

She’d tear his ear off, only to sew it back on so it would hurt more when she yelled into it about how stupid he was being this time. Yeah, she loved him and all, but that’s not the bullshit she’d be spewing at that moment. And whatever she would say would get him to pull over and he wasn’t ready to do that, not even if it meant Marco would probably hate him less.

 

The fake message had only made him drive faster. It wasn’t like he was worried about a speeding ticket anymore, anyway.

 

It was when his phone had started to ring, some early 2000’s pop bullshit spewing from it (something only Marco would put as his ringtone unironically) that Marco spoke again, voice soft and swiping under his nose between each time he replied to something. He told them, likely his parents, that yeah, he was fine, safe, even. Yes, Jean was moving too fast to jump out of the car (Jean had glanced at him then, trying to ignore the sudden desire to slow down before Marco continued on), but he wouldn’t want to. He knew that Jean wasn’t trying to, or even thinking about hurting him.

 

He had sent a small, anxious smile to Jean then, and it was at that moment that Jean almost hit a stray dog that decided to bolt across the freeway as he was staring at the tense twitches of his lips.

 

Of course, that led to him swerving almost into cement barriers, which made Marco yelp, almost throwing his phone out the window, whole body lurching to the side and then thumping back into his seat, while Jean’s fingernails tore into the steering wheel, knuckles white with how hard he gripped it, pressed against his own seat by the strong arm that had shot out to hold him in place. He kept his eyes on the road then, tuning the other boy out after his little breath that sounded both out of relief and amusement when he had muttered under his breath, “God, you’re such a mother,” and focused on driving instead of Marco’s ramblings to his parents that he was alright, just a little startled, was all.

 

He could just see the way his mother would start to bite her nails as she watched the news about him live, on TV, almost crashing the car in front of her.

 

Marco hung up a few minutes later and seemed less freaked out the whole problem, as he stretched out, arm even settling on the armrest between them, fingers occasionally (distractingly) bumping against his thigh. Jean tried not to dwell on the fact that it took a phone call with someone actually talking him through this to calm him down and instead of being the one to help him through that, Jean just panicked to himself and probably frowned too much. It went beyond concentrating on the road to just plain being pissed at the fact that he was on it.

 

Jean kind of wished that he had talked to him, because well, again, Marco was really nice to talk to and because he needed to talk, himself. Before he could do much other than open his mouth, however, the car let out a small _beeping_ noise and he glanced towards his hands to see that they were… running out of gas. Shit.

 

It looked like he was going to need to talk to someone after all. Just, not Marco. Or, not mainly him, anyway.

 

“Hey,” he tried to keep his tone as soft as he could as to not sound mean or gruff, “I’ve got a friend who’s kind of a genius about this kind of stuff. My phone’s in the center console, could you take it out real quick?”

 

Marco stilled for a moment, his fingers frozen in the movements, right against Jean’s leg. “Uh, sure,” he pulled his arm away and popped open the compartment and flicked out Jean’s phone, holding it unsteadily in his hand as he waited for more instructions.

 

“You know how to hook up bluetooth, right?”

 

It turned out that Marco didn’t and after a little fucking around and walking him through it, Jean was finally able to act out his plan.

 

“Wait, _how many_ police cars are chasing you?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m driving, Connie! Maybe like, eight or nine?”

 

“Damn, that’s gotta be a record. I don’t even think Eren even got that many when he jacked Old Man Shortie’s car.”

 

Grinding his teeth together, Jean took in a deep breath to keep himself from snapping and almost jerked when he felt Marco’s palm rest against his knee. He looked up in surprise to see Marco staring at him with those big brown eyes of his in a way that was probably supposed to be helpful and keep him in check, but all it did was double his heartrate as he snapped his gaze back to the empty road. “Come on, Con! I’m low on gas, just tell me what to do!”

 

“The important thing here is not to give up, okay? You just gotta keep going and show them that you can, you know?” Connie was about to burst into one of Eren’s old speeches or something and Jean was real tempted to just hang up and actually call Eren himself or even Armin, but then Connie paused and there was some shuffling in the background before he switched gears. “Well, actually, sometimes it's better if you recognize that the game is over and you’ve lost. Everyone knows what you’re capable of and right now it's probably better if you just go out in the classiest way possible before you get your shit flipped.”

 

Class. Huh.

 

There was some yelling on the other end, but Jean ignored that and reached over to end the call, ignoring Marco’s staring at the blinking numbers that showed how long the call had went on. Pulling off the road and back into town, he brushed a hand through his hair and pointedly kept his gaze forward. “Look, I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. And I know you’ve been scared and confused and so have I, but I just want to say I wish it hadn’t gone like this and you never have to sit through something like this ever again.”

 

Class.

 

Marco started to say something, but stopped when he noticed where they were: the driving school building’s back lot, where people had to turn through cones and avoid cardboard cars and pedestrians. And Jean drove right through them, dodging cones that Marco had hit earlier, easily sliding around the fake deer that jumped at him, and - since he had made enough distance to make the time for it - parallel parked between two older, already roughed up cars.

 

Unbuckling quickly, Jean glanced at the gaining cop cars and hopped out, gripping the windowsill of the door and leaned in, attracting the attention of Marco, who looked both astonished and perhaps a little envious at his ability to guide his car through a bunch of old cones. “Listen, when the kids at school ask about this,” he took a breath as he noticed some of the officers already getting out of their vehicles and spoke faster through Marco’s nod of understand, “Tell them that you’ve kind of had a crush on me and you were giving me roadhead and that’s why I swerved, not because I almost hit a fucking dog.”

 

The last thing he saw was Marco’s look of admiration turn into one of horror before he was shoved to the ground and there was a shoe pressing his cheek into the hot asphalt. Even biting on his tongue and squeezing his eyes shut (he knew there was pepper spray coming, when wouldn’t there be with these guys?) couldn’t keep back the smirk he felt building on his mouth when thought on the fact that, fuck, this _was_ his biggest crime yet.

 

And _nine_ cop cars! _Nine_!

 

* * *

 

Jean found himself, a few days later, sitting on the couch, sketchbook propped open on his lap. His mother had banned pretty much everything else - phone, friends, TV, computer, any electronics, really - and claimed that it would be better if he got back into art. It would be better for him, giving him something to focus on rather than causing trouble and trying to give his “poor mother an early death”.

 

She could be so dramatic. Heart failure wasn’t even common in their family.

 

After pushing it off long enough, he had finally started attempting to trace strong fingers on roughed up denim, but was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He called over his shoulder that he’d get it since he was closer, taking it as a sign that maybe he should push that drawing off even further. Maybe push it so far away it never even attempted to come back. That, he was okay with.

 

Upon opening the door, he - and the knocker - jumped. He blinked, once, then again, when he realized that not only was it Marco at the door, but he had been leaning against the side of his house before he had gotten startled, despite not having much of a wait, as if he was trying to relax himself. It was oddly… adorable and sparked a small grin that wiped itself off seconds later when he realized Marco wasn’t there to look cute for Jean. Probably, anyway. He wouldn’t put it past him, honestly.

 

He felt himself slump against his hold on the doorknob and he sighed. He had kind of hoped that he’d just never have to see Marco again. It was a lot more embarrassing to think about than it was when it was happening. He _kidnapped_ this boy. Even if it was accidental. “Marco-”

 

His visitor interrupted with a hand coming up to halt him. When Jean stopped, Marco took in a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut, finger coming up to run along his upper lip before he let out that large breath and started, “This is kind of awkward and likely not the time, but I just wanted to talk to you about what you said before you got arrested.”

 

Before he was arrested…

 

Shit.

 

Right before he was arrested he said some fucked up things and oh, god, that was not something he was looking forward to talking about. While his eyes widened, Marco’s cracked open briefly before squeezing closed again as he went on, not giving Jean a chance to say anything. “You know that thing you said about me having a crush on you? Well,” he took another breath and Jean waited, listening as his voice got higher in pitch, “It’s not _entirely_ wrong. And I didn’t know if you knew or not, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with people assuming or me telling anyone, so I thought I might as well tell you, too.”

 

Even if Marco left him with a pause as he tried to catch his breath, Jean found himself frozen and speechless and just ready to hear more of what Marco had to say.

 

“And about me giving you roadhead…” Jean’s teeth dug into his lip at those words. “I wanted to tell you that that’s actually an offer on the table. If you, uh, wanted. But, just normal head, because roadhead is actually, kind of really unsafe-”

 

“Jean!” His mother interrupted with a shout from the kitchen, but even with her voice drilling into his head and Marco’s speech, he couldn’t turn away from the boy in front of him. “I told you! No friends until after the hearing or it’s two weeks!”

 

She came bustling in, wiping her hands on her apron and strode over to where Jean stood completely still, now aware of the pink that went from his ears to the top of his chest, and the red that flushed along the bridge of Marco’s nose (such a nice color on him, seriously), glowing brighter than Jean had ever seen. She took one look at her son before turning to their guest before she calmed down and a smile graced her lips instead of the frown she was about to give Jean. “Oh! Marco, honey, I didn’t know you were coming over. Come on in, you’re here for Jean’s apology, aren’t you? He hasn’t left the place since he stole that car, you know, so I kind of guessed that he hadn’t found a way to tell you how terribly sorry he was for including you in his crimes.”

 

That wasn’t what Jean thought was going to go down. He just planned on hiding from Marco every second he got until he graduated and Marco forgot what he looked like and he could just move to Alaska like Connie or something. That seemed like a hell of a lot better of a plan than looking Marco in the eye.

 

Also, his mother was probably still a little angry it seemed. Normally her “my boy fucked up and I have to tell everyone” games weren’t this bad after a night’s rest.

 

“Actually-” Marco had started, but was cut off when Jean’s mother ushered him off to the kitchen and barked at Jean to go to his room, glaring at him over her shoulder when he attempted to protest, finally going along with it when Marco sent him a sympathetic look over his own shoulder.

 

When he did get to his room, he immediately pressed his ear to the door to see if he could hear what they were talking about, only catching bits and pieces. It seemed to start out with how it happened from Marco’s point of view, then to how Jean’s hearing was going to go or something, then to just Marco in general. The boy seemed to relax into their conversation pretty quickly and just that fact itched at his skin because Marco was so good at conversation and people and every time he talked to Jean it must have been hard because Jean was _not_ and he seemed so timid at the doorway and Jean could have pinned that on the fact that he was offering to blow Jean (which he was trying so hard not to think about because if he started thinking about Marco and how he wanted to be on his knees for him then he was going to get hard and never would he allow that to happen with his mother and his crush in the other room), but it only reminded him that they barely spoke in the car theft whatever the fuck and it was just a big mess.

 

It was probably best if he just kept listening instead of thinking of that.

 

Yet, after a little more listening, he realized that their conversation seemed to be going places and wouldn’t end soon, so he decided to pass the time with a spare spiral notebook and a couple of colored pens. Maybe he could find a way to draw lips into speaking words for him, because he had found that he had a new favorite word and he wanted to see if his always favorite mouth could form it on paper. Did he have a spare handheld mirror in his room? He would need that to study the way mouths moved around certain syllables.

 

Would “head” be hard to start with? Probably not, it was short enough.

 

Well, whatever the word ended up turning out to be, Jean wouldn't mind. He knew he’d like it, because, after all, Jean always found conversations with Marco to be kind of… nice.

**Author's Note:**

> So um, I took too many breaks during this, but now I have to write other things. Fun.
> 
> This is my [snk/writing tumblr](overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com), if you want it. And [riiiiiiight here ](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/141091804788/i-was-watching-malcolm-in-the-middle-before-i)is the rebloggable link to this fic.
> 
> It'd be great if you left a kudos and if you really liked it, a comment would be fantastic!
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you have/had a wonderful day!


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